by Patricia Fry
"Okay. Help me unload the animals and you can get them settled while I bring in the rest of the stuff," Michael suggested.
After carrying in the last load, Michael locked the front door again, and Savannah began unpacking a few things while the three cats and the dog checked out their new surroundings. Soon, Michael came down the stairs. "The baby's asleep in her alcove—the little crib fit perfectly. Where shall we put the dog and cat beds?" he asked.
Savannah, hands on hips, looked around the large open living/dining rooms. "I'm thinking about putting Buffy's bed in the alcove with Lily. I'll take her water and kibbles bowls up and put them in our bathroom. How many litter boxes did we bring?"
"Three—you said you wanted three, right?" he asked.
"Right. So would you take one up for Buffy? I'll go find her and see if she likes her accommodations."
It didn't take long for Savannah to discover Buffy sitting on a windowsill in the dining room behind the blinds. "Come on, little one," Savannah cooed, as she picked up the Himmie-look-alike. Just then, Rags strutted in from the kitchen. He followed Savannah and Buffy up the stairs and spent the next several minutes becoming familiar with the scents and sights in their new bedroom. Evidently satisfied, while Buffy sipped water from her bowl, Rags sprawled across her pink canopy bed, which Savannah had placed near Lily's crib.
"Uh-oh," Michael said when he entered the room with a pan of litter.
"What?" Savannah asked, looking up from the task of hanging a few clothes in the closet.
"Your cat. He has claimed Buffy's bed again."
"Not to worry," she said, laughing. "I brought both of her beds. I guess I'll put the other one here in our room. Where are Walter and Lexie sleeping tonight?"
"I put their bowls and Lexie's bed in the service porch just off the kitchen. There was room for two litter boxes in the adjoining bathroom." He chuckled. "I imagine that bathroom is designated for beachgoers with sandy feet. Good place for a sandbox, don't you think?"
"Sure. Good job," she said flatly, in a weak attempt at humoring him. She then asked, "Where's Walter sleeping?"
"Oh, he discovered an afghan on a bed downstairs sort of like the one in that chair he likes in our living room. I found him sleeping under it."
Just then Savannah noticed something in Michael's hands. "What's that?" she asked.
"Peter left us a note. He says he'll be here at nine for breakfast—there's bacon, eggs, and fruit in the fridge." The two of them smiled at one another. "What a guy," Michael said. "Oh, and there's a concert tomorrow night in the park. He wants us to go with him."
"Sounds fun," Savannah said. "Okay, I think I have everything out that we'll need for this evening and tomorrow morning. I'll finish unpacking after breakfast."
****
The next morning, Savannah awakened to find herself, not only alone, but in a strange place. It took her a moment to get her bearings, but the first thing she did, after climbing out of bed, was to check on the baby in the alcove. Gone! Michael must have taken Lily downstairs, she thought to herself. She noticed that both of Buffy's beds were empty, too. She pulled back the lightweight nautical-print drapes and smiled upon seeing the ocean sparkling in the morning sun. What a picture-perfect day, she thought, walking out onto the balcony. Taking in a deep breath, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, smiling in anticipation of the days ahead. I'd better go see what my family's up to, she thought, strolling back inside and entering the spacious bathroom. After freshening up, she slipped into her robe and headed out the door toward the staircase, hoping she could remember her way around the place.
Savannah was halfway down the stairs, when she heard voices. Peter must be here. She rushed back to her room and slipped into the capri pants and t-shirt she'd laid out for her first day of their beach vacation and then followed the sound of the voices into the kitchen. She approached Michael, who was sitting at the table holding Lily, and she kissed him. She then ran her hand along the baby's face and down one arm in a gentle caress.
"Hi hon," Michael said, looking up at her. "This is…"
Before he could finish, Peter turned away from the sink and said, "Well, hello there!" He walked toward Savannah drying his hands on a towel slung over one shoulder. "Savannah, right?"
She nodded and extended her hand. "And you must be our generous host. Nice to meet you, Peter."
Peter took her hand, lifted it gently, and gallantly kissed it, keeping his dark brown eyes on hers. He then said, "Michael, Michael. How do you do it, man? She's lovely."
Savannah looked at Michael, who was grinning proudly. She glanced back at Peter and said, "Thank you, kind sir."
He stared at her for a moment longer and then let go of her hand, saying, "Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to attack you right out of bed. I hope you don't mind my barging in. Thought I'd fix you some breakfast."
"No, I don't mind. I'd welcome the Ninja Turtles if they were here to fix my breakfast," she said, chuckling.
Peter winked at Michael. "…and she has a sense of humor." He reached for the coffee pot and raised it toward Savannah. "Java?" he offered.
She noticed a pitcher of orange juice sitting on the table. "Is that fresh-squeezed?" she asked, pointing.
"Yep," Peter said. "Want some?"
She nodded, and he promptly removed a juice glass from the cupboard and filled it for her.
"Thanks," she said, taking Lily from Michael and snuggling with her.
Peter glanced from Michael to Savannah. "You make a beautiful family."
"Yes we do," Michael agreed, laughing.
"Where are the cats?" Savannah asked. "Have they come in for breakfast?"
Michael nodded. "I saw Buffy wandering around earlier. I know she ate. Walter is curled up with Lexie in there next to the washer and dryer."
"Really?" Savannah said. "I haven't seen those two share a bed in a while. Must be feeling a little insecure being in a new place and all." She looked around. "What about Rags? He's usually part of the breakfast crowd."
Peter turned away from the stove, holding a platter of bacon and eggs. "Oh, is that the large grey tuxedo cat?" he asked, walking toward the table.
"Yes. Have you seen him this morning?" Savannah asked, sipping her juice.
"Yeah, he went out when I came in."
Savannah choked and coughed. "He went out?" she nearly shouted.
Peter froze, a look of panic on his face. "Yeah, he isn't supposed to?"
"No," Savannah said, placing Lily in her bouncy chair. "Which door did he go out?" she asked, her voice raised an octave.
"Front," Peter said, watching her sprint past him. He turned toward Michael. "Gosh, I'm sorry. He looked so determined; I thought he needed a potty break."
"Yeah, he can be convincing," Michael said, taking his usual long strides into the living room after Savannah.
Just as the two men caught up with her, they heard her exclaim, "Rags!" There he was, sitting on the front porch waiting for the door to open. Savannah hurriedly picked him up, wrapped her arms around him, and carried him into the house. "No, no," she said to him. "Don't you be tricking strangers into letting you out. Bad boy," she scolded, while holding him close.
"What's all this?" Peter asked, looking down at the porch and scratching his head.
"Close the door before the others get out," Savannah warned.
Peter stooped and picked something up. Carrying it inside, he closed the door behind him. "Michael," he said.
Michael glanced back at Peter, then took a double-take before saying, "Uh, hon, it looks like your cat's up to his old tricks."
When Savannah saw what Peter held in his hands, she closed her eyes and slumped a little. "Oh no," she groaned.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Do you know where this stuff came from?"
"I'm afraid you turned a thief loose in the neighborhood, Peter," Michael said.
Their host looked confused. "What?"
"He takes things," Savannah said, placing Rags on the floor a
nd watching him trot off toward the kitchen. "One reason he's not allowed out is because he's known to rob the neighbors blind."
"Oh my God. The cat went out and found this stuff and brought it back here?" He laughed. "I've never heard of such a thing." Peter looked down at the items in his hands. Then, dropping them on an ottoman, he said, "Let's see what he's got here. A grungy toy…" He picked up a dirty stuffed bear between the tips of his index finger and thumb. He glanced at the Iveys. "Maybe a dog toy." He shook his head in disbelief when he noticed a flip-flop among the items. He held up a piece of paper and laughed. "Hey, this looks like some kid's homework. How's he going to explain this to his teacher? 'The cat ate it,'" he mimicked. "Another toy," Peter said, lifting a small rubber duck out of the pile. And what's this?" he asked, laughing. He held it up for everyone to see. "A bathing-suit top? Man, that cat's a riot." He turned toward Rags, who was now sitting on the floor nearby watching the human activity. "Where did you get this, cat? Have you been undressing women on the beach?"
Savannah looked sullen. "Darn it, Rags. I thought you were reformed."
Peter continued to laugh. "So he has a record, does he?"
Savannah nodded. "You might say that. When we lived in LA, he used to bring all kinds of stuff like this home."
Michael interrupted, laughing, "And Savannah would pile it in a wagon and take it through the neighborhood on weekends, trying to find the owners. Get this, Peter," he said, "the cat would tag along with her."
Peter burst into laughter again. He looked at Rags, then asked, "He doesn't do it where you live now?"
Savannah shook her head. "Only because we don't let him out," she explained.
"He fleeces our guests, though," Michael said.
Peter looked at Michael and then Savannah. "Really? How does he do that?"
Michael grinned. "Just have a woman set her purse where he can get to it or leave your jacket somewhere and you'll find out."
Peter walked over to pet Rags. In turn, the cat bumped his head against Peter's hand.
"Oh great," Savannah said, chuckling, "he thinks you're complimenting him on his criminal behavior."
Peter glanced up at her. "Well, I am. I think he's awesome." He turned to Rags. "Yes, you're awesome, cat. You go guy," he said. He looked at his watch. "We'd better eat. I know you're on vacation, but I have to work this morning."
After breakfast, Peter rushed to leave. "Hey, come down and see my gallery when you get squared around," he invited. "And we'll have dinner tonight before the concert…on me."
"Dinner on you?" Michael questioned. "I don't remember that happening when we were in college." Michael patted his friend on the back. "You're not the typical starving artist, are you, Peter?"
"No, fortunately, I'm not." He looked down. "But sometimes success can be as much a burden as failure can."
"What? Why?" Michael asked.
He became sullen. "It can make you a target." Then he smiled. "Oh, never mind that. You're on vacation. You two have fun." He looked at Savannah. "I gave Michael directions to the gallery. Hope to see you all later."
"Sure; and thanks for breakfast." Once Peter had left, Savannah suggested, "Let's finish our coffee on the deck and watch the waves, want to?"
Michael nodded. He picked up Lily in her chair, saying, "We're gonna go check out the beach, baby girl."
Just then, Rags jumped up on the kitchen table and began dancing around, making kitty prrrrt sounds.
"No, Rags. You're on time-out. No beach activities for you this morning," Savannah said while filling their coffee mugs.
When Rags reached out with one paw toward Michael, he said, "Sorry buddy, what Mom says goes. You're sitting this one out."
Just then, they noticed Lexie dancing around Michael's feet. "Yes, you can come out, girl," he said. "Savannah, would you get her leash?"
"Gosh this is the way to live, isn't it?" Michael said, once they'd settled into cushioned deck chairs under the shade of an over-sized umbrella.
"Yes, what a view. And it's so cool that there are options here on the deck," she said, motioning with her arms, "…plenty of shade or full sun. I could sure get used to this—and having someone fix breakfast for us…that was a nice surprise." She became thoughtful for a moment and said, "I think he's lonely."
"Who?" Michael asked, peering at her over his sunglasses.
"Your friend, Peter."
"Why would you say that? He's got everything—money, talent…fans… It sounds like he has a lot of friends and quite a social life."
"Oh, I don't know. Just seems like something's missing for him. Maybe it's my imagination." She handed Michael her phone. "Here, take a picture of Lily and me with the ocean in the background" After looking at the resulting photograph, she said, "I'm sending this to Iris, Colbi, Craig, Bri, Bonnie…oh, someone's calling. It's Mom." She put the phone up to her ear. "Hi, Mom."
"Hi honey. Are you at the beach?"
"Yes. It's a great place. Wait 'til you see it."
"How long will you and Michael be staying?"
"We're playing it by ear, but maybe as long as three weeks. Can you believe it?"
Gladys's voice cracked a little. "Oh, that would be wonderful."
"How far away are you from here, Mom; an hour?"
"About that, depending on traffic. Forty minutes on a good day."
"So what time will you come and how long can you stay?" Savannah smoothed Lily's hair. "Your granddaughter's eager to see you."
"Oh, I can't wait to see that darling child. I have an appointment this morning. I'll be there after lunch. I thought I'd pack for a week and see how it goes. I can always run home if I need to."
"Super. If we're not here, we'll leave a key under the mat. You have the directions and the address, right?"
"Yes," Gladys said. "…all punched into my GPS. See you later. Oh, how about if I fix fried chicken for dinner?"
"Maybe tomorrow, Mom. We've been invited out tonight. If you don't mind, I thought you and Lily could hang out here. Michael and I don't get a date night very often."
Gladys didn't hesitate before saying, "That would be great. I look forward to it."
****
"Hello!" Michael called, as he entered Peter's gallery with Savannah and Lily later that morning. "Anyone here?"
Peter stepped out from behind one of several panels of art and joined them in the main gallery. "Hi," he said, running one hand through his dark, curly hair. "Out slumming?" he asked, chuckling, his brown eyes glistening against his tanned complexion.
"So this is where it all happens, huh?" Michael asked.
"It's wonderful," Savannah said. "Seeing your art in person is even more exciting than seeing it at your website."
Peter smiled. Bowing graciously, he said, "Well, thank you. Hey, come look around," he invited, walking between some of the exhibit panels. Michael followed with Lily in her stroller, while Savannah hung back, staring at a painting that had attracted her attention.
There's so much to each of his pieces, she thought. The more you look, the more you see. Oh, there's a cat. I wonder how many people notice the cat crouched there near that tree. He has such a unique quality to his work. Makes you want to know more about the artist. I can see why he gets so much attention.
Suddenly she heard Michael call out to her. "Savannah, you've gotta see this."
"Coming," she said, as she headed in the direction of his voice. Where are they? she wondered. There sure are a lot of nooks and crannies in this place. Oops, this must be his office. She started to back out, when a painting on the opposite wall caught her eye. Wow, that's a great painting, she thought. She couldn't help herself. She walked toward it and, for a moment, felt as if she had become part of it. "Forest Folly," she read. It's interesting how his paintings tend to draw you in.
"Savannah, are you lost?" Michael called. "Oh, there you are," he said, peering into the office. "I want you to see something."
As she turned to follow him, he disappeared from view. In
her haste to catch up, one of her flip-flops caught on the leg of the office chair and she stumbled forward, catching herself with her hands on the desktop. "Klutz," she whispered. She started to walk away when she stopped. Who's that? she wondered, studying the small window in front of her. Within seconds the image disappeared. Was that man watching me? She moved toward the window and peered out. I guess he's gone. Maybe he was just walking past. She stopped and thought about it for a moment and then said to herself, shuddering, Sure seemed as though he was staring into this room.
"Savannah, what are you doing?" Michael called. "Are you lost again?"
"No, I'm coming," she said.
She glanced at the window again and shook her head as she exited Peter's office. When she finally caught up with the others, Michael pointed to a series of framed articles featuring Peter and his work, which had been published in some of the most prestigious magazines in the art world.
"Wow!" Savannah said. She turned to Peter. "Impressive. I love your work. I'm no art connoisseur, but I know what I like." She motioned toward the articles and chuckled. "Obviously I'm not the only one." She thought for a moment and then added, "Your paintings have such depth. They're realistic, yet whimsical and full of surprises. I'm definitely taking one home with me—even if it's just a print. Not sure I can afford the real thing. You're too famous for my pocketbook," she said, laughing.
Peter smiled. "Every artist loves a positive critique."
"You can't possibly get anything else," Michael said.
"Well, you wouldn't think so. But I can tell you, the bigger you become, the larger target you are." He took in a breath and ushered the couple back toward the main gallery. "But enough about me. What's on your agenda today?"
"Just looking forward to the concert tonight. We even have a babysitter," Michael said, "which is rare."
"Other than that, we're content to just watch the surf and the people. This is a great people-watching place."
"Oh yeah," Peter agreed, winking.
Just then a young woman in her twenties walked into the gallery wearing a pert red-and-white polka-dot dress and casual sandals. She slipped on a red shrug as she entered. "Hi," she said, flashing a demure smile exposing straight, slightly over-whitened teeth. "The wind's picking up," she said, pulling strands of her short auburn hair back into place with her fingers.
